


Alouette

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Coffee Shops and Cafés AU [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira’s A Host, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fiancée/Fiancé, Jealousy, Reader’s His Customer, incubus!Akira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 21:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: A month is a long time for a relationship, any relationship to be stuck in a rut. Akira’s no stranger to being stuck between a rock and a hard place.It’s certainly a different matter when Akira would much prefer to have you trapped between him and the closest surface.However…There are a few issues with his relationship with you.One: you hate his new job.Two: you don’t like the thought of him being around women other than you for “work.”Three: he’s a demon; you’re a human.Four: incubi need a certain something like you need air to breathe.And he hasn’t gotten it for 30 straight days.





	1. I: A Host’s Favourite Customer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krisaliachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krisaliachan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Get Laid Cafe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682350) by [lovehotelreservation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovehotelreservation/pseuds/lovehotelreservation). 



Contrary to popular belief, denizens of the infernal realm—and the realms stretching beyond even _its_ roaring rivers of flame, torture, and eternal damnation—were very interested in humans. Most saw them as nothing but playthings, mere toys to be used, re-used, and discarded (or worse) once they grew bored of them. Some saw them as business partners. Others took one, two, or more as lovers. A select few saw them as something... _more_. One such incubus was certainly a rarity.

A demon who saw humans as more than just things to be toyed with. Akira breathed a sigh as he all but flopped down on the plush couch, blinking as he raised a hand to rest on the sweating crown of his forehead. A few other hosts were relaxing in the lounge room as well, chatting, chuckling, or texting their girlfriends, fiancées, or wives. The constant dings and text tunes playing weren’t helping Akira’s headache, huffing forth a second sigh as his free hand dug into the breast pocket of his butler attire, withdrawing his own cellphone. His eyes stared from behind the round, black-framed fake glasses that sat on his nose, onyx irises peering at the illuminated screen.

A notification popped up. _“No new messages.”_

Akira pocketed the cellular device, a frown pursed his lips as he flicked his bespectacled eyes on the other hosts as they talked, laughed, smoked, and drank. They were all dressed in the finest butler suits just as he was, but unlike them, his lover wasn’t texting him. You hadn’t even sent him a greeting text, asked him how his day was, or even asked him what—if anything—he wanted when you went grocery shopping last night.

 _By herself. Again,_ the frizzy-haired incubus thought, pursing his lips.

He sighed; he shouldn’t have been very surprised at how distant you’d gotten in the last few weeks. Especially not after he had gone and told you that he finally found a place that would gladly have him as an employee—and however joyful, however pleased you’d been had come crashing down in mere seconds as Akira explained his employment situation.

_“...A host club?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“A. Fucking. Host club, Akira!?”_

_“...Yes?”_

_“...Well.”_

His heart always sank a bit whenever he recalled seeing the brief flash of hurt, of distrust in your eyes as you uttered your next words.

_“I hope you have fun being swarmed by women who want to have ‘fun’ with you.”_

Ever since the day Akira started working at the host club, no, the week before... He noticed that the relationship had taken a rather... sour turn. Slowly, the nights where he’d spent curled up beside you in bed grew less and less frequent, as he’d been asked (ordered, more like.) to sleep on the lumpy couch in the living room of your apartment room. You both still ate breakfast and dinner together, but the pockets of silence were stifling, awkward. Your replies were curt, clipped, and ice-cold whenever he asked you a question. Mornings had always been his favourite time of day, as well as the evenings when you returned home from your part-time job, however...

Lately, whenever he tried to hug or kiss you goodbye before leaving for ‘work,’ you’d get all huffy and grumble what sounded like, _“And how many women have you kissed lately with that mouth?”_ under your breath, turning your head at the last moment, so that his lips met your cheek instead of your mouth. Humans were frail, selfish, and jealous beings, but were demons any better? Akira doubted that even the most pious of creatures, whether they were human, angel, or something else entirely...

Not even they could claim to truly be “just.” Neither could he for that matter, but especially someone like Akira. The sharp click-click of heels that signalled the approach of the café’s owner caused the other hosts’ eyes to widen, passing a quick glance at each other as they straightened their postures, kicking their feet up off of the furniture they sat or were splayed out across on. They were quick to send their significant others’ one last goodbye text, swallowing the last trace of sake from their shot glasses, or crushing their cigarettes into ashtrays just as the door to the lounge room burst open. The woman who ran the host café, Ai Nitta, stood on the lounge room’s threshold, pointing her brown eyes across the room, staring—almost glaring—at every male who stared back at her.

She was a 30-something-year-old imposing, no-nonsense woman with a personality befitting that of a perfectionist, _and_ a woman with impeccable business sense at that.

Apparently, from what some of the other, far more experienced hosts had told Akira when he first started working at the café, Ai Nitta had been married to a very successful entrepreneur until he died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of thirty-five. The authorities immediately suspected foul play, but no matter how much they dug into Ai Nitta’s past and character, there was nothing that implicated her in her husband’s untimely passing. Eventually, her husband’s death had been written off as due to natural causes; there was simply nothing connecting the woman to her spouse’s passing, and the case had been declared closed.

Still, the groundless gossip continued to be spread, and whispers of rumours continued to be hissed around the city, dubbing Ai Nitta by a rather macabre title as the “Black Widow.” Even so, if people expected the business of a woman who owned and managed the café from top to bottom to go under, it didn’t cause people to turn their noses up at the business. Certainly not the females, young and up to thirty-odd-year-olds alike. Teenagers, college students, influential women from all walks of the higher rungs of society, and rich ex-wives of doctors, lawyers, and the like...

They all visited the café, looking for companionship or an expensive, but satisfying quickie in one of the (thankfully) sound-proof rooms on the second floor of the café. If people expected a woman like Ai Nitta, a woman of infamous prestige, to suffer due to suspicions of murdering her husband, to declare bankruptcy, to live as a homeless beggar on the street corner, they were sorely mistaken. Unlike other, far less successful cafés and host clubs in the city, there was one policy Ai Nitta tasked her employees to stick to no matter what. No matter how much the young women whined, pleaded, pouted, or batted their eyelashes.

No matter how often they flashed their wallets stuffed with money, or offered a teasing glimpse of a shining credit card or two. The policy went a little something like this...

_“If that lonely housewife wants to see you again, she better fork over the money!”_

That was what she had said to Akira upon arriving for his first shift roughly a month ago, after a regular customer—a woman who had just gone through a messy divorce, but was most certainly “loaded,” as his boss had assured Akira of—had said she would request him again as she bid him a good day. _After_ she paid for Akira to keep her company for two straight hours, of course. He had passed his interview with flying colours, which quietly surprised him. Despite his natural gifts of charming and seducing others, females especially, with the sort of ease that it was almost laughable how eager they were, how quick they were to want him in their beds, there were an extremely rare few who weren’t as susceptible to his charisma.

They _were_ affected, yes, just not to the degree so many, many other women had been, and still were drawn to him like moths to a flame. To be honest, he thought that his boss, Ai Nitta, might perhaps be one of them at first, but much to his unspoken relief, she was nothing of the sort. She was a bit stubborn, yes, wanting to “test the waters” with a potential host, allowing him to cater to three smirking, doe-eyed college girls. They whispered and giggled to each other, batting their eyelashes at him as he approached them with a calm gait, the smallest of warm, welcoming grins on his lips as he tugged the gloves he wore closer to his fingers. And of course, how could he forget what the manager and owner of the host club/café, Alouette, had said to him after they left? After he told his boss what they had said as they were leaving the establishment...?

_“Hah!? They won’t pay for your services upfront next time!? Unacceptable! You tell those snobby, rich college sluts for me the moment they come through that door. Cash or credit cards upfront. No ifs, ands, or buts; no money, no service!”_

“Kurusu, you’ve been requested. _Again_. Come on! Up, up, up! I need my best host front and centre!”

Ai’s voice was as brisk as it ever was, the click-clicks of her heels signalling her approach as she made her way over to where the frizzy-haired, bespectacled host was lying down. For a seemingly frail, dark-haired woman who was only 5’5’’, a woman who looked like the most gentle of breezes would send her crashing to the floor, she was certainly stronger than she let herself on to be.

“I said come _on_ , Kurusu. Your break isn’t for another hour; you can service one more customer until then!”

“Yes, Miss Nitta,” Akira breathed through his lips, his voice sounding a bit husky as he was sort of dragged, sort of got to his feet on his own.

He wasn’t attempting to charm her into letting him off the hook, but as one of the most requested hosts in the café, if not the most requested employee, he was often working instead of resting. He could hear the scoffs, disgruntled remarks, and scathing words of his fellow employees as their boss all but hauled him off of the couch, leading him toward the lounge room’s open doorway.

“Tch. Kiss ass.”

“What a damn suck-up he is.”

“I bet he gets _‘special favours’_ from the boss for raking in so much money.”

“You think? No way... Then... Hey, do you guys think he’s got a bit of sweet sugar on the side?”

“With the boss, of all people? Nah, he couldn’t be. ‘Sides, she’s way too old for him.”

Akira’s lips pursed as his jaw became set, feeling himself tensing up at the mere suggestion that he was cheating on you. Although he felt the bittersweet sting of quiet gratitude for the last remark he heard, it didn’t excuse what the others were whispering about him.

He wasn’t like them, the hosts who actually _had_ cheated on their significant others’ with customers who visited the café.

He never looked at another woman the way he looked at you.

He didn’t dare touch a woman in the ways he touched you.

He never cooed sweet nothings into another woman’s ear as he did with you.

No, it was different with you. Akira honestly and _truly_ meant what he told to you, and only to you, in the dead of night whenever you were in bed together. You were granted the privilege of seeing a part of him no one else was allowed to see, as he hissed tantalizing promises of “fucking your brains out,” screwing you until you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk right the following morning, or get out of bed at all for that matter.

The voice of his boss, Ai Nitta, pried him out of his inner musings, blinking his eyes as he cleared his throat before asking, “I’m sorry. What did you say, Miss Nitta?”

The dark-haired woman stopped in mid-step, pointing a glare over her shoulder.

“If you’d been paying attention, you would have heard me say,” Ai paused to release his hand, turning around and reaching up, gripping a hold of the black frame of his glasses off of his face, revealing the intensity of his onyx irises as he blinked owlishly down at her.

“...The glasses are a nice touch. Good for rich, lonely, and slobbering bitches who are into the ‘nerdy’ look you put out, but this customer isn’t. She’s requested that you service her with them off; you’re better-looking without them on.”

“...Yes, Miss Nitta,” Akira replied after a moment’s pause, watching as a frown clipped the corner of Ai’s glossed lips.

She quirked a brow questionably, pointing her brown eyes up at him.

“Is there a problem, Akira?”

For once in the short time he’d known her, his boss sounded—and faintly looked—as though she honestly gave a damn as to what might be bothering him. That, and she addressed him by his first name. That was certainly a first.

“...No, Miss Nitta.”

The barely-there expression of concern was gone as soon as it had come, as Ai’s face returned to looking as though she smelled something awful 24/7.

“Second room down the left-hand corridor. Don’t keep her waiting; a waiting customer won’t pay as well.”

“Understood, Miss Nitta,” Akira nodded, pausing to bow respectfully before walking past the 30-odd-year-old.

He took a sharp left as he met a fork in the hallway, stopping in front of a door marked with the numbers ‘69’ bolted into the polished mahogany wood. The incubus raised his hands, readjusting the gloves on his hands, tugging them closer as he lingered outside the door, lost in thought for a few more moments.

All in all, Akira enjoyed working at the café. The hours were manageable, the pay was pretty good, the work environment was a tad... questionable at times, but overall, the staff and employees were warm and welcoming, but... If there was one thing he could honestly say he disliked about the host club/café... It was the women. The customers whom he catered to, young or well into their thirties, curious, lonely, heartbroken, or wanting some company. Because...

No matter how many smiles they flashed at him...

No matter how many giggles they tossed his way...

No matter how many times they batted their eyelashes as they stared up at him with shining doe eyes...

No matter how many times they asked for his number, asked for a quickie in one of the sound-proof rooms... They were always turned down, always rejected, as gently as he possibly could pass on their offers.

Why?

Because they weren’t you.


	2. II: Your Jealousy

The heels of your boots clicked over the sidewalk, wading your way past couples ranging from teenagers, young adults, middle-aged, and elderly. The giggles of children rose up in the chilly early spring air, their little hands clasping around their mothers’ slim knuckles as soft, but lightly stern words of maternal scolding were heard. The complaints, whispers of pointless gossip, crow-like smiles, and hisses of rumours were heard from the occasional group or cluster of women, teenagers, single and married women alike.  


You stopped in the midst of a small ocean of people, your lips pursed as you looked up from the glowing screen of your phone, flicking a glance around. The part of the city you found yourself in was positively bustling with activity, it gave you the impression of the inner workings of a bee hive. A bee hive with scores of drones who were either buzzing about, putting forth the minimal effort required, or were lazing about and doing nothing at all... and with no queen bee in sight.

Shopping bags hung from the clothed arms of women as they walked out of clothing stores, the heels of their boots clicking over the sidewalk as they walked. Businessmen gripped briefcases, holding a tall or medium-sized Styrofoam cup in their hands, sipping on their doubtlessly hot drinks as they walked. Elderly couples sat on benches, grumbling on how the younger generation were so “damn disrespectful.” Others shambled on by, their wrinkled lips pulled back to form smiles as their grandchildren or great-grandchildren giggled, shrieked, and hopped over cracks on the sidewalk, holding the children’s hands in their large, wrinkled, and calloused fingers, hinting of decades’ worth of hard work. 

“Hey, move it, you placid bitch!”

You were jolted from your thoughts by the impact of a hand shoving into your back, hard, almost sending you toppling to the streets. Thankfully, you staggered forth a few steps, clutching your phone to your chest. You paused only to catch your breath, not having expected the sudden force of movement at all. However, that didn’t stop you from whirling on your feet, your brows furrowed, a frown clipping your lips as your face was set into a scowl, glaring at the women who were walking past you.

“ _Hey_ yourself! Say ‘excuse me’! Or apologize at least!” 

The heated words had been spoken before you could even think to stop yourself from speaking. The words rolled off your tongue, flowed past your lips as natural as water, too quickly for you to even pause to think. You expected the women to do a lot of things. You expected them to sneer. You expected them to spit at the ground near your feet. Hell, you expected one of them to go so far as to slap you at the very least—but they didn’t do anything, much to your surprise and quiet relief. Despite your small outburst, you’d rather avoid confrontation, especially out in the two-faced, judgmental eyes of the public. You were generally quite a “shy mouse for such a naughty kitten,” as a certain someone often phrased it...

Instead, the women smirked and sneered, their crow-like smiles honed in on you for a few more moments before continuing on their way, their heels clicking as they walked before disappearing around the corner. Sighing, you held your cellphone out, pointing your eyes down at the illuminated screen. Using the internet on your phone had always been something of a pet peeve for you at times, but you were determined to persevere. No, you had to push through the butterflies that fluttered about in the pit of your stomach, the jitters that caused your hand to shake lightly.

 _Calm down. Calm down,_ you quietly assured yourself, taking in a breath to harden your wavering resolve.

 _You’ve been here before, but unlike all the other times, you’re_ not _going to chicken out and go back home._

It was true. Unbeknownst to Akira, you’d been on the street you stood in the midst of at the moment, you’d been swarmed by clusters of the same people going about their business, several times in the past month.

Every evening after your part-time shift ended, you’d take out your phone and input the name and address of a certain host club/café on the GPS of your phone the moment a miniature map of the city popped up on the small, illuminated screen of your cellphone.

Every evening you’d follow the tiny blue blip on your phone, your nerves of steel suddenly turning to a pile of gooey mush upon seeing the velvet blue skylark that made up the logo of the host club/café. The very same hue of velvet blue letters that made up the establishment’s namesake, Alouette, that was above the host club’s/café’s entrance.  


Every evening the scorching determination you’d feel would turn to ice-cold hesitation, the sure-fire gait slowing to a wimpy stride. Your fingers gripped your cellphone in a tight grip as icy beads of sweat trailed down from your forehead, hitching in a breath as you stood across the street from the host club/café, rooted in place.

Every evening you’d pause in mid-stride upon seeing a familiar head of frizzy black hair.

Every evening you’d swallow down a lump in your throat, a lump that was the size of a bowling ball seeing a certain bespectacled young man loitering outside the velvet blue entrance of Alouette.

Every evening you’d watch as a warm, welcoming smile that practically _oozed_ charm curled his lips, passing out flyers during his break.

Every evening you’d watch from the other side of the street, or shyly peeking out from the side of a building, ignoring any odd stares you received from the people who passed by, your eyes fixed on a certain onyx-eyed young man as you watched from a distance you deemed to be safe.

Every evening you watched as Akira was surrounded by a cluster of giggling, doe-eyed women ranging from high school students to college students, first-time mothers to 30-year-old housewives, all desperate for some _real_ attention from a man for a change.

Every evening your blood would turn to ice, freezing solid in your veins as a pair of warm onyx eyes would flick in your direction, but you’d seek shelter behind the corner of the closest building, or disappear into a crowded cluster of people.

Every evening you’d sigh in defeat, chalking it up as another failed attempt to strut into the host club/café, Alouette, like you owned it in order to apologize to Akira at long last.

Every evening you’d trek back home in low spirits, returning to the dimly lit interior of the apartment you shared with Akira. You’d return to being your usual lukewarm, distant self, condemning Akira to yet _another_ night on the couch.

It was a seemingly endless circle of pockets of awkward silence during dinner, washing and drying the dishes. An endless loop of hugs that weren’t returned, of kisses on the cheek, and of course, sleeping alone in your bed for another night.

If you were being completely honest, you were getting sick of it all. As far as you were concerned, Akira deserved to hear words of sincere remorse from your lips.

He deserved to see you bawling your eyes out, to see them well up with tears.

He deserved to see you groveling on the ground, begging for his forgiveness.

He deserved to hear you pleading him to give you another chance, that you’d do better, try harder in the strained rut of a relationship you both endured for the past month, and see to it that you fixed your past mistakes.

More importantly, above everything else...

Akira _deserved_ to have the kisses and hugs he’d given you returned to him, two-fold. 

He _deserved_ to see your smile, to hear your laugh again, to see your eyes sparkling with joy and life. 

He _deserved_ to feel your arms looped around his shoulders, to hold you as humanly close as possible, and take as many lip-locks from you as he desired to take.

Akira _deserved_ to hear words of praise from you as you sampled the meals you had taught him to make, and while you were never that big of a fan of coffee originally, a cup of coffee from Akira may as well have been a blissful sip of heaven on your tongue. 

He _deserved_ to see your gaze honed on him, your irises lit with glowing praise of his culinary handiwork. He deserved to be enveloped with a hug, to receive a quick peck on the lips, whispering a promise of him receiving a “special reward” later on in the evening. 

Akira _deserved_ to recall how it felt to lie in bed with you, curled up against your form, clothed, partially dressed, or as bare as the day you were born. He deserved to wrap his arms and legs around yours, keeping you close as your head laid on his chest, listening to the calm, steady beats of his heart. 

He _deserved_ to familiarize himself with your body, tracing every bump, every curve with his hands, cooing sweet nothings in your ear. 

He _deserved_ to hold you in his lap, to look down at you while you lathered your tongue over his twitching cock, to scour your lovely visage as you moaned his name beneath him, to take you from behind and rock you into paradise with his hips.

_That is, if he isn’t already seeking out the company of other women to satiate his sexual desires..._

No sooner had that particular thought crossed your mind, the green-eyed monster chose to run its bitter poison through your blood. Jealousy heated your blood, and you swore you saw a flare of dark green at the edge of your vision. You took a few moments to inhale and exhale, the sharp click-clicks of your heels in sync with your breathing as you neared the host club/café, Alouette. You forced yourself not to show any noticeably unpleasant emotions, refusing to allow even a hint of your true feelings to show on your face.

No. No. No. No, no, no, no. You would not... You could _not_ think such things now.

Unless you saw it happening before you, you refused to believe that Akira was cheating on you. Still... In the back of your mind, you felt a twinge of hesitation, of doubt, and worry—but more than that, the emotion that hit you harder than any other sensation was the icy knife of fear twisting itself into your chest, dead center. 

_Inhale. Exhale._  


The host club/café’s logo, Alouette, cast a glow of velvet blue amidst the hustle and bustle of the city’s night life, typical of a Saturday evening. It was terribly cliché, but to you, it was reminiscent of heavenly gates looming before you. The open doorway of Alouette was beckoning you inside a world filled of angelic men who were lorded over by a goddess with icy eyes, a goddess who possessed a demeanour that was as brisk as a winter evening. 

_Inhale. Exhale._

The familiar velvet blue skylark was in your sights, a sight which caused you to swallow a gulp.

_Inhale. Exhale._

The click-clicks of your low heels sounded unnecessarily loud to your ringing ears, even though the mindless chatter, the shouts and complaints, the laughter of countless people, the sizzling of cooked food, and honking horns hung in the nocturnal atmosphere the closer you drew to a certain establishment.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Finally, you stood before the host club/café, sparing a quick glance up at the café’s entrance, your gaze landing on the all too familiar velvet blue skylark that was situated above the host club’s entrance, as though you checked to make sure you were at the right place. A quick glance down at the glowing screen of the cellphone you held confirmed that, yes, were indeed in the right place, judging by the blinking blue dot on the illuminated screen of your phone. 

_Inhale. Exhale._

Your phone vibrated in your hand as a notification message popped up on your phone’s glowing screen, blinking owlishly as your irises stared at it in quiet contemplation.

“...Hm?” you murmured, swiping your index finger across the screen, bringing up your inbox.

Soon, a message stared back at you, and your heart began to beat faster as you stared at the message box on the cellphone’s screen.

_You have 6 new messages from Akira Kurusu._

Swallowing a glob of saliva that was the size of a tennis ball, your finger—your shaking index finger—went through all the messages your live-in boyfriend had left you throughout the day. The messages that you hadn’t bothered to look at until that exact moment, just as you’d done every other time Akira left you text messages for the past month.

_“Good morning, my love. Did you enjoy breakfast? Was I being too forward with you again before I left for work? I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. If you’re feeling pressured to respond, please don’t be. Really... You’re quite a stubborn one aren’t you, dear? I just miss the feeling of your lips against mine.”_

_“It’s lunchtime. Did you remember to take out the leftovers from the fridge, the leftovers of last night’s supper before you left for work? Please make sure to heat it up before eating it. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”_

_“I’m surrounded by women all day, you think I’d compare it to heaven. It isn’t. The only heaven I’d want to reside in is wherever you are, my kitten.”_

_“I’m finally on break. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of the other hosts. I’m the only one here who isn’t receiving any messages from their cute lover, after all.”  
_

_“Please respond, my darling. You know that I have eyes for you and only you, right?”_

_“I love you, my Treasure.”_

With a nod of determination, you steeled your resolve, slipping your cellphone back into the pocket of your spring coat. You raised a hand, bringing the collar of your coat closer to your neck, a shiver possessing you as there was a sudden gust of chilly air that whispered by you. You paused to intake another breath, swallowing another gulp as you took a step forward—only to be bumped into by a woman with three other females, causing you to stumble at the sudden jolt of momentum that hit your stationary form.  


In your irked state, the giggles that poured from their crow-like smiles were reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard, and before you knew it, a sharp “ _hey!_ ” had left your lips, causing them to halt momentarily. They spared you a quick, once-over look before they smirked, exchanging sneers as they snickered amongst each other, walking straight into Alouette as though they owned it.

“...Jeez,” you muttered to yourself, straightening your spring coat as you breathed a sigh through your mouth. “ _She_ bumped into _me_ , and yet she didn’t even try to apologize.”

 _What a bitch!_ you hissed mentally, whereas you chose to dismiss the incident with a sigh and a shake of your head. 

You didn’t want to cause a scene out in public, and right on the host club/café’s steps no less. 

You’d heard the tales about Ai Nitta from the rumour-loving, gossiping housewives who lived in the apartment building, and you knew she wouldn’t stand for any negativity occurring inside or outside her establishment. Other than Akira, the last person you wanted to rub the wrong way was the owner and manager of Alouette, Ai Nitta.  


You straightened your posture, you tapped the heel of your shoes on the sidewalk, you held your chin up and swallowed one last gulp before, at last, you entered the host club/café. The click-clicks of your shoes caught the attention of a few nearby hosts the moment you walked inside, who exchanged smirks and nudges to the ribs, their eyes honed in on you as you took a few baby steps into the host club/café. 

Your gaze slowly took in the interior of the host club, quietly taking in what your surroundings had to offer you. The host club that doubled as a café was busy and bustling, something that didn’t surprise you. Based on your past visits, you could affirm that morning, noon, or night, but especially during the evening hours, Alouette was never short on business when it came to the hosts catering to their female customers and, on occasion, their lovers.

Some doe-eyed women hung off of the arms of handsome hosts, others sat in the hosts’ laps, and some rested their heads on the hosts’ shoulders. Charming smirks curled the men’s lips as another host poured sparkling champagne or dark wine into a glass that was held aloft by dainty fingers, fingers with manicured nails covered in glistening nail polish. Some ring fingers bore a wedding band here and there, diamond-encrusted rings that glittered underneath the café’s fluorescent lighting—and yet despite their wedding bands, some women still pressed their glossed lips to the men’s smirking lips.

A grimace pulled at your face as you looked away, preferring to further take in the sights the host club and café. It was reminiscent of a high-class restaurant. Fancy white tablecloths, elegant chairs and tables, expensive-looking cutlery, wine glasses, and a food trolley was pushed to a table to your right, where a group of laughing hosts sat with giggling women. The lighting set the mood of a warm, welcoming atmosphere, the mahogany wood floor and the briefest glimpse of a staircase that led to the second floor caught your attention. The staircase was just as polished as the floor was, giving off the sense of being impeccably clean, gleaming with a shimmer that was almost painful to look at.

Seeing the expensive food and drink, standing within such a high-class atmosphere, and watching the well-dressed men sitting with the women who reminded you of pricey dolls you’d see in store windows, you suddenly felt... unwanted, unnecessary, reminding you of your low, middle-class social status. A jolt of self-awareness hit you as you raised your arms, bringing your coat-covered limbs up to wrap your hands around the fabric that shielded you from the chilly spring air. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious as a few gazes—and from the men and women alike—landed on you, giving your still, slightly shaking form a quick once-over glance.

You breathed a sigh, rubbing your hands over the fabric of your spring coat that covered your arms, dropping them to your side, glancing up at the sound of a few sets of heels clicking as three smiling men approached you.

“Good evening and welcome home, mistress,” the men chorused, completely in sync with each other, their voices reminding you of warm, melted candy. Smooth, seductive, and oozing flattery as they smirked or smiled down at you.

“M-Mistress?” you whispered, feeling heat rise from your neck to warm your cheeks.

“Come sit down, mistress. You must be tired after working hard all day, no?”

“Um... Uh... I-It’s nice to meet you, but... T-That’s... I’m... I’m here... I’m here to see...”

Your stuttered protests fell on deaf ears as, smiling, one of the hosts wrapped his glove-covered hand in yours, leading you away from the entrance of Alouette and over to an empty seat.

“Thank you very much for tonight, Akira.”

There was a noticeable croon to the female’s voice, as warm as honeyed candy, but it was _who_ she was talking to that mattered, and upon hearing the name “Akira” reach your ears, your attention snapped to where a dark-haired woman stood with a certain frizzy-haired man. The duo walked down the staircase that wound in the middle, the woman’s hands draped around Akira’s arm as he raised a free hand, raising it to the back of his neck as it was rubbed sheepishly before pulling his hand away.

“You’re quite welcome, Miss Danielle. It was my pleasure to service you.”

A giggle that sounded obnoxious and high-pitched left the woman, simpering flirtatiously as she batted her eyelashes, staring up at the onyx-eyed young man with warm honey-brown irises, breathing a pleased hum as she rested her head on Akira’s shoulder.

 _Can this well-dressed slut be any more obvious in what she’s_ trying _to do?_ you seethed mentally, feeling—no, sensing—a hot rush of anger wash over you. 

The emotion was fuelled by a new wave of jealousy that quickly followed the initial hit of green-eyed envy, pumping its bitter poison through your veins. Your jaw became set as your free hand curled to form a shaking, white-knuckled fist. Instinctively, your gaze fell on a half-full glass of sparkling champagne on the table you and the three hosts were passing. For a moment, and only a moment, you considered wrenching yourself free of the male host’s grip, snatching up the glass of champagne, walk briskly over to where Akira stood with that “Danielle” lady, and see how she’d appreciate having to wash the champagne stains out of her clothes later on.

However, mere seconds before you seriously considered acting upon your instincts that were telling you to do something, anything about the situation, a host took possession of the half-full glass of wine and raised it to the glossed lips of a woman sitting in his lap. 

You inhaled, slowly and deeply, releasing it in the form of a whoosh of an exhale. 

_Calm down. Calm down,_ you mentally chided yourself. _Remember where you are._

“Mistress? This way, please.”

The voice of the male host fell on deaf ears, your deaf ears to be precise. You swallowed a thick gulp, one that stuck to your esophagus as it slid down your throat. Your gaze remained on Akira and the dark-haired woman, watching as she chuckled before she raised a hand, wrapping her dainty fingertips on the back of Akira’s neck, dipping him down closer, closer, and closer still... Their lips were almost touching...

“No!”

The abrupt yell had left your lips before you could even think to stop yourself from speaking, earning several aghast, confused, and annoyed murmurs and looks to go along with the affronted whispers.

“What’s her deal? Honestly, young women these days.”

“What’s with the yelling?”

“So much for a relaxing evening tonight.”

“Oh wow, look at her. She looks very angry.”

Indeed, the brunette woman with honey eyes _did_ look annoyed; her brows pinched the slant of her eyebrows as she shot you an irritated glare, clicking her tongue to further show her vexed state. However, you noticed too late that Akira had raised a hand, gently pressing his fingers to the woman’s lips, stopping her from knowing the soft warmth of his mouth against hers. The demon’s onyx eyes were honed on you, observing you and your current state in silence, before lowering the hand away from the well-dressed woman’s lips.

Finally, after a few moments of silence, someone spoke. Akira.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise, Treasure.”


End file.
